


Breathless

by CozyCryptidCorner



Category: Original Work, exophilia - Fandom
Genre: Biting, Exophilia, Gen, Lots of kissing, Shark Merfolk, but nothing nsfw, gender neutral reader, merfolk, merman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:48:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21666214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CozyCryptidCorner/pseuds/CozyCryptidCorner
Summary: You're a scientist at a joint human and merfolk research station out in the Pacific. Though you won't admit it outloud, your coworker is rather attractive... but maybe he'll make the first move himself.***If you are reading this on any third party apps (such as unofficialao3), or on any platform besides AO3, Tumblr, and Wattpad, then you are reading stolen work. I do not give consent for my stories to be published or pulled elsewhere.***
Relationships: Merfolk/Human, Shark Merfolk/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 219





	Breathless

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! This is a story from a raffle winner from one of my follower celebrations. Hope you enjoy!

The train from the coastline to the Center takes well over an hour, the lights of the cars dim enough so the passengers can look out windows and into the depths. The glass that protects the track network is thick and military-grade, strong enough not to crack underneath the pressure of the ocean. You don’t mind the time it takes to get there, it gives you a moment to breathe, or finish up any last-minute projects. The paperwork at the Center can be a bitch, and it seems like everyone is running behind on it, even you. So while the wheels on the tracks whirl and moan, you have your laptop out, fingers flying across the keys as you electronically sign off a thing or two.

The shriek of the breaks is dulled significantly by the padding of the train’s walls, but you still hear the barest echo of the slowing wheels. There, out the window, you can see the lights shimmering through the currents, shadows of creatures swimming to and fro dancing on the edge of your vision. Carefully, you start placing your work things back into your bag, placing the strap on your shoulder as the cars come to a final stop. The intercom buzzes as someone’s recorded voice announces this as the Center, reminding tourists to calmly file towards the main lobby for the tours and special bundle deals for the whole family.

You watch your step as you get off, helping a mother carry a rather bulky stroller down the steep stairs while her toddler coos at the bright lights hanging overhead. Instead of following the crowd, most of them just curious passersby here to spend a long day, you scan an employee’s pass on a nearby elevator, stepping in and pressing your floor when the doors close. The labs are a lower level down, far from the loud shrieking of children and the aghast staring of couples as they look into the many different aquatic exhibits. You are similar to them in that you are here to be a spectator, though the reasons are vastly different.

The wetsuit waiting for you in the locker room is cold and wet, as it hadn’t managed to dry from when you left it the night before. You don’t think you’ve put that thing on while it was dry since you first got it, but it doesn’t matter so much once you get it on. It traps the heat from your body, keeping you warm despite the obvious chill deep seawater brings. You step into the main hall, barefoot and with your water shoes in hand, looking over at the adjoining waterway the merfolk use to get around. Someone waits for you, skin a dark shade of blue-gray, teeth sharp and layered in rows in his mouth.

“Hey,” you say, holding your bookbag slightly away from your body, so it doesn’t soak through. “How’d your night go?”

“Oh, you know,” Kanoa says, baring his razor-sharp teeth in a greeting smile, “the same. I watched a- what was it called… _RIP Vine_ _compilation for the Chaotic Good._ I also learned a new human word: yeet.”

“Hm, interesting.” You bite your bottom lip, looking over the day’s agenda. “You are aware of the proper use of that word, right?”

“Of course, doctor. I would demonstrate, but I have nothing to throw besides an expensive, government-issued tablet.”

“Please don’t,” you are tempted to laugh, but hold everything together for the sake of a professional persona. “Management will not be particularly pleased about that. Our mysterious benefactor’s money can only go so far.”

When you walk, Kanoa follows alongside in the waterway, tail flicking for movement. You know that he could easily outpace you is he wanted, there have been some foot races up and down the halls just for the sake of fun. The merfolk are typically the ones who come out winning, their slick, long bodies perfect examples of speed and agility. Still, there isn’t any use in outrunning your partner when they can barely keep up, so Kanoa matches your rate of steps, looking over his tablet with a furrowed brow.

“How did our patient do during the night?” You ask, bringing up the file of a dolphin.

“I heard from our night crew that she had no issues, though she seemed lonely.”

“Once her wounds are healed up enough, she can join the communal tank.” You push open a set of double doors, entering a large, domed room, an artificial glow shining from the many lights against the ceiling. The simulation of daytime is remarkable, you would readily admit, for anyone less aware of the small biome’s existence, they might be readily fooled for some time, though the painted horizon on one side would be an easy giveaway. The sand feels warm against your bare toes, as the heated plates just a couple of feet below work to keep the internal temperatures like that of a paradise.

There, in the shallows of the water, a baby dolphin swims around in circles, though her movements are rather weak. Still, she’s significantly healed from when she first arrived, bloody and bruised from struggling to escape a stray plastic net she caught herself in. A little rest and some TLC and she’ll be back with her pod in no time, though her family went ahead and migrated without her, most likely under the assumption that their poor baby was dead. The GPS tags have them out in the northern waters already, so you’ll probably have her kept in rehabilitation until they come back.

Kanoa pops out from his own entrance underneath the water, shaking his head back and forth to get the water from his eyes. The dolphin clicks with joy when she sees him, swimming weak circles around his large, gray frame in an invitation to play. He picks her up, and she wriggles in his arms with joy, making loud, squeaky cries of excitement as he dives backward in the water, popping back up only a yard away from the artificial shore. She squeals when she notices you, too, beckoning you closer so she could swim excited circles around your waist.

“She missed us,” Kanoa laughs, picking her up again and placing a kiss on her forehead. “Awww, little baby, look at you! Getting better already.”

The dolphin’s excitement is ridiculously infectious, so you find yourself giggling along to her chirps of happiness. Your fingers run over her back as she wriggles back and forth between you and Kanoa, unable to decide who gets to get the honor of playing the first game of the day with her. Physical therapy, actually, it’s just disguised as something fun for her to do, but every little thing the both of you do has the express purpose of helping her recover. Still, dressing it up to be fun and engaging certainly hurts no one, least of all the patient in question.

“We need to come up with a name for you,” Kanoa coos, cradling her in his arms.

“Don’t look at me,” you say, “you can’t put me on the spot like that.”

“I’m sure I’ll think of something,” Kanoa says, more to the dolphin than you, “yes I will, baby girl, yes I will…”

You hide your smile behind the tablet, tapping briefly just to make it seem like you’re working. Kanoa is more than happy to take the first game, something designed to strengthen her muscles, while you sit on the sandy edge, monitoring her progress from a distance in case he misses something vital in her movement. She’s a wily one, even while injured, so she runs to risk of straining herself far too early, something that might permanently damage what has already been harmed. Then it’s your turn to give her some attention, swimming laps around the pool in the guise of tag.

“You take lunch with the other scientists, don’t you?” Kanoa asks, after a few hours of working with the dolphin.

“Usually. I don’t have the energy to pack my own food, so I eat from the cafeteria.”

“You should eat it with me. If you don’t mind.” Kanoa fiddles with his tablet, the corner of his mouth twitching. “It would give us some extra time to discuss our little patient here.”

It only takes a moment of hesitation for you to agree. “Sure, but you’ll have to let me grab something to-go from the main caf.”

“Of course,” Kanoa says, perhaps a little too quickly. “I usually eat here with little miss sunshine, so-”

“I’ll get something to eat and come back down,” you finish, nodding, “sounds good.”

It doesn’t take much longer for lunchtime to arrive, but it does take you a hot minute to go up to the cafeteria, lines all up the wazoo. You through on a simple cover dress, one thin layer to hide your skin-tight wetsuit from prying, curious eyes. Thanks to the ridiculous amount of tourism that takes up a good portion of the Center, there are many chain restaurants present to feed them all, so you always have a decent selection of menu. There’s an authentic Japanese restaurant, carved out in their own little corner, one that many a night you’ve spent with your land-dwelling coworkers.

The sushi there is top-notch, or at least you’ve been told so by your coworkers with more experience in the cuisine. While a tad bit pricey, it _is_ one of the few things that both humans and merfolk can consume, so you’re drawn to it all the same. Just on a whim, you order one or two more than you think you can eat… in case someone wants to share. After a couple of minutes of waiting after your order was taken, the chef finishes up the lunch, placing everything in a sturdy paper box, one that biodegrades after a couple of days once it’s been used. Plastics are strictly prohibited; after all, styrofoam included, so everything that gets put in the trash rots after a couple of days. Keeps the risk of pollution at a minimum.

You walk back to the elevators, careful to dodge a group of shrieking children running out of the gift shop, little trinkets that couldn’t have cost more than five dollars in hand. It doesn’t take you as long to navigate the tunneling corridors back down to the rehab domes, the chill of the hallways biting at your fingers. The warmth of the artificial sun is a relief the moment you push your way through the doors, and you’re quick to kick off your sandals and bury your toes beneath the sand.

Kanoa waits for you, tail curled up, ceramic bowl in hand with spiced fish inside. It’s rather hard to cook food beneath the sea when a fire isn’t exactly an option, and going to any heat source like a lava flow would end up with you roasting alongside whatever you have, so it’s not really a surprise that merfolk eat their food raw. You sit next to him, placing a metal water bottle in the sand and wriggling it, so it stays upright, and look over to where the dolphin is swimming around in circles, playing her own little game with a large, inflated ball.

“How’s she doing?”

“In the few minutes that you’ve been gone?” Kanoa pops another slice of fish into his mouth. “Not very different. She’s extremely chipper today, wonder what the night crew did to put her in such a good mood.”

“Maybe she’s just stoked to see us.”

Kanoa looks over at you, brow furrowed.

“Stoked, uh, means,”

“Just playing,” he flicks your shoulder, “I know what it means: very excited.”

You snort, snapping a pair of disposable chopsticks in half. “You got me there, dude. I almost went on a whole tangent explaining what it means and how it’s used. Can’t have a repeat of the _lmao_ incident from last year.”

Kanoa lets out a huffy laugh, looking over your meal with an interested gaze. “Sushi? You like that?”

You shrug, picking up one of the more fishy bites and offered it to him. “Mostly. You want some?”

He leans over and takes the sushi in his mouth, not taking too much time to chew before swallowing, eyes narrowing ever so slightly as he takes a moment to decide whether or not he likes it. “It’s good.”

“Yeah?” You aren’t sure if you’re feeling relief or not.

“Yeah.”

“Cool.” You quickly pick up another and eat it, mouth savoring the natural saltiness of the fish and the soft crunch of an accompanying radish.

“I have a question,” Kanoa says in a casual-not-casual voice, “just something I’ve been wondering about.”

“Yes?” You take the bait, not sure where to look. Definitely not on his chiseled abs, that’s not a great place to stare at right now. Maybe not at your sushi, either, because that might seem rude. Ugh, eye contact it is, then.

“I’ve seen acts of affection on the Tube. Kissing, right?”

“First, never call YouTube ‘the tube’ again,” you take a breath, steeling yourself for where you know he’s trying to steer the conversation towards. You know what? You’re okay with this. “Second, yes, I’m aware of kissing.”

“I’d like to try it, if you don’t mind, with someone with experience in the action. Most humans do, yeah? You do?”

You clear the air away from your throat. “Yeah.”

“Would you mind?”

You let the question mull over in your head for all but two seconds while you bring forth the pros and cons of doing allowing a shark merfolk press his mouth against yours- or, you suppose, you’ll have to be the one to initiate, coaching him through the process. Pros; you look down at his abs, then back up to the shapely outline of his jaw. Cons; uhm, letting the softer parts of your face get up and cozy with that gauntlet of ridiculously sharp teeth.

“Sure,” you say, swallowing thickly, eyeing his pecs, “for science.”

Carefully, you set the box of sushi onto the sand. Then, slowly, you place both hands on either side of his shoulders, getting up onto your knees, and go in for the kill before you hesitate any longer. His mouth isn’t soft as a human’s; rather, it’s a tad bit rubbery, nor is it at all warm. It’s almost like kissing one of those dreaded dodgeballs that’s been hanging out in the cold night air for a good couple of hours, though his mouth is decidedly far more _shapely_ than a sphere.

Kanoa doesn’t move an inch, frozen in place, almost like he hadn’t expected you to take his offer, or at least do so as quickly as you ended up doing so. When you pull away, though, his hand unexpectedly falls on your arm, his dark eyes almost glazed over from whatever emotions are running through his body. After a moment, he presses his forehead against yours, then tries his best to mimic the way your lips had gently pressed up against his. He’s clumsy at first, but that doesn’t stop him from making a second attempt, one that’s much more improved in the way of technique.

You’re quickly breathless, and you can’t remember how you ended up underneath him, only that his kissing abilities are improving very rapidly with every single intimate moment that passes. It takes you a minute to be able to think properly because you want to ask him something, but the heat the two of you share makes it awfully hard to create a single, coherent sentence in your mind. Oh, the coolness of his mouth was only offputting in the beginning, now it’s grown on you. “Ho-” you let out a little gasp when his face tilts, and he offers a teasing kiss on your earlobe, “how to your people do this?”

“They don’t.” He’s as breathless as you, unable to process any of his thoughts or your words correctly.

“Not this, but- but ways they show love?” You tangling your fingers through his drying hair, your nails pressing into his scalp.

Kanoa mulls it over for a moment, eyes darting across your face, your eyes, nose, mouth, then falls down to a sliver of skin that the wetsuit doesn’t cover on your neck. He leans over, his hair tickling your chin, then bites, not hard, not enough to draw blood, but enough to send a little spark through your nerves. Instead of immediately letting go, he stays that way for a bit longer, then slowly opens his mouth enough to release your skin. His teeth graze against your neck as he does so, the warmth of his breath sending delicious shivers down your spine.

“Like that.” He says, sounding satisfied with how disheveled you look beneath him.

“Oh,” you say, your voice small. “Do it again.”

He obeys, switching over to the other side of your neck, his teeth pulling at your skin. The way he bites is careful, full of cautious movement, clearly aware that any sort of wrong twitch might leave your skin torn and bloody. It’s a careful dance between too much and not enough, the line between pain and pleasure as thin as a silk thread, but he somehow manages to walk it with a sort of ease that you’re not confident you can come close to emulate, should the tables turn. When he lets go, the sharpness ceases, and you are left breathless and heated.

“We should stop,” he says, his voice quiet and muted, as though there’s suddenly a wall dividing the two of you.

“Wha- why?” You ask, suddenly aware that the zipper of your wetsuit had somehow managed to make it down past your collarbone. Did he do that? Did you? It’s a blur.

“I’m afraid I won’t want to stop if we continue- and I don’t think you would, either.” He looks over to where the dolphin is swimming around in circles, eagerly awaiting your return to playtime. “We’re still at work.”

“Right.” Your stomach stops its drop, relieved that he hadn’t suddenly decided that this was all too much, too fast, because the pace seemed to be just right in your eyes.

“There’s a utility closet that I can get into upstairs,” he says, “no one ever enters because it’s tucked in a far off corner.”

You smile wide enough that it hurts. “Oh? And what would be doing in there?”

“Going as far as we’d like without worrying about an audience.”

“I’ll give it some thought,” you say, playing the _hard to get_ card. “Weigh the benefits of any feasible outcomes.

“Well, please write out your final thesis on the topic and bring it by my desk by evening.”


End file.
